I keep waking up in the night, worrying about how I’m going to get everything done, and what I have to cook or bake or buy today. Then I remind myself it’s OK, I have no more to do for Boxing Day, and now all I have to do is repurpose leftovers. And that’s going pretty well! Plenty went straight into the freezer, and can just be thawed and heated up at a later date, and I’ve made two batches of soup so far, some of which went to feed us, some went to my father-in-law, and the rest will be eaten, or remade into something else, and frozen. It’ll be OK! I’m basically done! But my nervous system hasn’t quite got the message yet.

Back to the food on the day, though. Unfortunately, due to the fact that I had a roomful of people wanting to eat, Phil didn’t get a chance to take photos of the albóndigas or the chorizo a la sidra, but meatballs and sausages aren’t terribly photogenic anyway, and trust me, they were delicious. The sausage I bought from Lunya was perfection, and many thanks to Lunya’s chef, who came out of the kitchen, carrying sausages from his own stock, when the shop assistant kindly went back to find out which of their (many, many) sorts of chorizo I should use, in response to my query, insisting I must use these sausages, these were the sort they used, and unsurprisingly he was right, as they were fantastic. (Basically, you need to go with an uncured sausage, and they had only cured in the deli’s chiller case.) I can’t say enough nice things about Lunya. I’ve been going in there for years, and have never found the staff anything less than helpful and friendly and totally knowledgable about their wares.

And there’s the muhumarra! This turned out to be my favourite thing, and it was totally last minute; I had some uneaten roasted red peppers, a lot of leftover walnuts, and a few bits of stale bread to use up, and thus, gorgeous, lovely, muhumarra.

All as seen previously, but perhaps a little more clearly here. The spanakopita disappeared in the first round of feasting, and the sausage rolls weren’t far behind. I kicked some butt with those, I did. (Plenty stashed in the freezer, but people were losing steam at that point, so I didn’t bake more.)

Muhummara, oh I am so pleased with that stuff. And so pleased I have the leftovers all to myself. Yum!mezze corner! olives, nibbly things, guacamole, hummus, muhammara, Greek salad (that was amazing; I’d been tenderly ripening those tomatoes for days, glimpses of spanakopita and mediterranean herbed steamed potatoes

And there it is, my culinary meisterwerk. No, not, strictly speaking, a purely tapas spread, as Spain was far from the only country represented, but we most definitely did not have the traditional British or American holiday spread. To me, the spirit of tapas and mezze and the groaning board in general is pretty universal; come, eat, be sociable, and happy. Yes, I totally overdid it, but what the hell: it was good.

…in my freezer. I am so deeply into the weeds with this Boxing Day tapas spread nonsense that I have two unfinished posts sitting in the draft bin, mostly because as I was writing them, I would suddenly think of something that needed doing, and I’d get up and get stuck in, and then three days would pass, my computer would decide to up and shut down and restart (thanks, Apple!), thus automatically shuffling them into the draft tank (thanks, WordPress!) and then I forgot what I had in mind to write about in the first place.

But it was probably a run-on sentence. I’ll check when I get time (ha!) and see if I can finish them. (Done. See below.)

And then I got up to put my tester tortilla patatas together and in the oven, so I nearly abandoned another post. Yes, I always fry my tortillas, as god and the Spanish intended, except when I’m trying to feed something on the order of seventeen people, in which case, I start Googling stuff like “baked spanish tortilla” and “tortilla traybake.” The Beeb’s Good Food site had me covered, and there are other sources who seem to think this is a workable idea, so I’m trying it. It seems likely to be easier and more likely to be successful than my other plan, which was freezing them. Some sources say OK, some say not OK, and my own personal experience has suggested “mostly OK” is the answer, but definitely not ideal, as they come out a little watery. If I’m just feeding it to myself and Phil, that would be fine, but guests? (Some of whom are, to put it mildly, somewhat judgmental.) Nope. We’ll try the traybake tortilla idea first, thanks. I’m also having a go at making it with fancy Spanish potato chips, because if I can spare myself using the mandoline and then frying several pounds of thinly sliced potatoes, I will gladly take that shortcut. My last mandoline adventure ended in blood and tears when I shaved off a thumbprint, and this is something I do not want to repeat. So it will be me, a pile of spuds, a peeler and the Mighty Magimix if this doesn’t work.

Also, because I am insane, and have this deep abiding fear of there not being enough food for everybody to eat a huge portion of every single thing available, and for there to be a wide variety of things of which to eat a huge portion, I have decided we really need to have spanakopita as well. So I’ve got a bunch of steamed and brutally wrung-out spinach and some onions cooling, waiting to be blended with herbs and some godawful expensive barrel-aged feta and a bit of ricotta. I’m trying not to think of the phyllo part. If I had any brains, or more freezer space, I might just try to make it as one big pie, but no, that’s not going to be possible. Hey, at least the triangles freeze well, right? This has become my new standard: does it freeze well? Then we’ll consider it. Except ice cream of course, because I’ve got six enormous batches of cookie dough to bake, a tray of baklava to assemble, cupcakes, and a trifle to make. I think we’ve got sweets covered. (Oh, but I’m making custard anyway, the evil little perfectionist demon whispers in my ear. FUCK OFF, DEMON.)

But I am quite possibly going to make those padrón peppers stuffed with goat’s cheese and drizzled with honey. I impulse bought those peppers in a OMG NOT ENOUGH FOOD panic yesterday afternoon, and I frankly don’t know what else to do with them. Daft, yes, wasteful, no.

…and the spicy tomato jam is done and jarred. And very good, if you like that sort of thing, which I do.

…and the tester tortilla is done as well, and it is MAGNIFICENT. So that’ll work and has the potential to make Boxing Day morning less fraught.

And now I’m going to sit down with a cup of coffee while my phyllo comes up to room temperature, and spend some time fretting over my list.

Well, aside from some shopping and planning and general freaking out, I didn’t actually get stuck in and start cooking until last night. I made two jars of chutney for the tapas buffet (apple, mango) and I’m hoping to get some tomato chutney and onion confit done tonight. I’m also aiming to get the tomato sauce for my albóndigas done and in the freezer, although that may wait until tomorrow, as it can simmer away happily enough while I’m shovelling out Phil’s man cave. I want to get a batch of savoury/spicy cooking out of the way before I start the cookie and bread dough, to avoid contaminating my sugar cookies with pimentón. I may be contemplating putting some orange blossom and rosewater in my shortbread, but pimentón is a bit too avant garde for me. (Look at me gettin’ all fancy with the italics and accents there!)

Clementines mean Christmas! And this shot means Phil has a new flash to play with. Also, it had been a long, gale-filled day.

I came down with a case of botulism paranoia, and instead of just doing what I used to do when making jam and chutney-ish stuff, and putting blazing hot food into oven-sterilised jars, then sealing immediately, I bought a preserving rack and some lifting tongs, and water bath sterilised everything. This is how we canned (jarred?) stewed tomatoes when I was growing up, so I knew how to do it, but up until now, I’ve never felt the need, because I generally stick with jams, confits, and chutneys, and frankly, I’ve never read a British recipe for any of those things that called for the water bath. Instead, you get a much more laid-back “eh, sterilise the jars and seals, and don’t touch the insides when you’re potting up.” And I think they are probably right, and I’ve never had a poisoned or spoilt jar yet, but Google and the various USDA sources that land high on its searches feel VERY VERY STRONGLY that using anything but a water bath to preserve will kill you deader than hell.

Not-so-artistically-arranged, but still: clementines!

And I’d roll my eyes, and do it the way I always have, because I am a rebel, but I’m also feeding 20 other people who might not share my cavalier attitude, including elderly people in uncertain health, and youngish children, so a water bath it had to be. (And I’m probably going to store it in the fridge as well, because thanks for the paranoia, USDA.) It was a pain in the arse, but I did find the sound of the seals popping into place strangely satisfying.

And just this morning, the lowest string of lights burned out. Good thing we got a photo first!

Oh god, I have so much to do. I hypothetically love this sort of thing, and I love the feeling of satisfaction that I get after it’s all done, and I’m slumped in a chair, with only my husband and cat to witness my exhaustion and oh thank god it’s over exhilaration, and there are no more guests and only a pile of leftovers to feed us over the next few days, but actually getting there, well, it’s complicated.

(Written and wandered away from on 8 December. I want this published, so I can remind myself of what this all takes, if I’m ever tempted to do this again.)